


My Heart is in the City Of Love

by DontLetHimGo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cheesy, Fluff, French Louis, Kissing, Louis in Glasses, M/M, Paris (City), Photographer Harry, So yeah, and harry trying to speak french, i actually have no idea how to tag this, it's just fluff really, umm, with french louis, yeah i wrote something super cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontLetHimGo/pseuds/DontLetHimGo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes a week long trip to Paris to build up a good portfolio for his upcoming apprenticeship interview. What he doesn't expect is to meet Louis, who is as beautiful as the Eiffel Tower (if not more so). </p><p>Or the one where Harry can't speak French, but tries to impress the pretty French boy by giving it a good go. </p><p>(Inspired by <a href="http://poshboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/95199136692/okay-but-harry-spending-a-semester-in-france-and">this post</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart is in the City Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> So this is just another little fic to fill the gap before my Big Bang. AHHH!  
> I saw this idea on tumblr last night, and thanks to some incredible enthusiasm from [certain](http://spreaditforharry.tumblr.com) [people](http://gaylinsonstyles.tumblr.com), I thought I'd give it a try! It's not exactly the same as the post - it's only inspired by it. 
> 
> I did write this in a day, so I'm sorry if it seems a bit rushed, and there may be some mistakes! 
> 
> Also, I don't speak French, so I heavily relied on the Internet. If anything's completely wrong, please let me know! :) (Glossary at the end)
> 
> Title from "Raining in Paris" by The Maine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Direction, and all elements of this are fictional.
> 
> This is a work written by myself, and I do not wish for it to be posted elsewhere. Even if you give me credit, I would much prefer that it stay here on ao3 and on my tumblr only. Thank you!

“ _Bonjour_.”

The lady behind the counter smiles kindly and returns the greeting. “ _Qu'est-ce que je vous sers?_ ”

Harry nervously looks up and down the glass cabinet in front of him, despite already knowing what he was going to order. “Um,” he hesitates, wishing he’d checked his phrasebook one last time before it was his turn, “ _Je voudrais... un croque-monsieur, s'il vous plaît ?_ ”

His request also brings out a smile on the server’s face, and she says something which Harry thinks must mean something like, “Go and take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you.” (Which is still a guess, but she gestured to the tables, so it makes sense, right?)

Harry chooses a table next to the window and sets his bag on the chair beside him as he flicks through his phrasebook to try and find something nice that he could say to the server when she brings him his food. It’s a fruitless effort, so he’s just left with, “ _Merci_.”

He’s about halfway through his sandwich when he hears an incredibly soft, beautifully accented voice over the generally quiet café, and when he turns to the source, he sees a boy stood at the counter, wearing a striped shirt and bright red jeans, with brown hair sticking out the back of a navy-blue beanie. Even from the back, he looks simply _adorable_.

He’s speaking in fluent French, and Harry watches as the server giggles and says something back which then makes the boy laugh and G _od_ … Harry’s sure he’s never heard anything so wonderful coming out of someone’s mouth.

Deciding that looking for any longer period of time may look creepy, Harry begins to read his phrasebook once again, only looking up as the boy takes a paper bag from the counter and waves cheerfully.

“ _Merci, Madame. Au revoir!_ ”

Luck seems to be in Harry’s favour today, because the boy turns towards him instead of away, so just for a split second, Harry sees soft features, a swooping fringe and black rimmed glasses.

He might just be in love.

 

~*~

 

When Harry’s photography teacher suggested that he take some time out abroad to build up a portfolio, he didn’t immediately think France. In fact, he was fairly dead-set on _not_ going abroad and staying with his friend Liam in London to just get a few typical shots of Big Ben and the London Eye.

“You won’t achieve anything by going to London, Harry. This is to show your skills as a _photographer_ \- not as a tourist,” Mrs Sharp said, leaning back in her desk chair and tapping an off-beat rhythm on her stomach. “Have you considered Paris?”

“Uh, no,” Harry had replied, assuming that Paris would be counted as more of a tourist destination also. “A trip to France would be a bit too expensive for me.”

And yet, here he is - thanks to Mrs Sharp and her family who decided to take an impromptu trip to France in the February half term and offer Harry to join them on their journey through the Chunnel. This meant that he only had to sort out accommodation and spending money - which along with some help from his parents and a few extra shifts at the bakery, he was able to do.

He’s entirely grateful to Mrs Sharp, but Harry really doesn’t feel like bumping into her on his wanders about Paris for fear that she may give him an undesired photography lesson. So far, he’s been successfully avoiding any member of the Sharp family since they parted ways at the beginning of the week, but it’s only a matter of time until they pop up again.

“ _Mesdames et Messieurs, bonjour_.”

Harry’s broken out of his thoughts by the sound of a faintly familiar voice echoing out through a tinny microphone. Looking up from his camera, he sees the boy from the café stood opposite, greeting the passersby as a blond boy tunes his guitar behind him.

“ _Je m’appelle Louis, et-_ ”

Harry understood enough French in school to know that Louis is this boy’s name, and he can’t help but think how well it suits him - especially in his gentle French accent.

Once the introduction is over, Louis turns to the blond boy - who Harry heard being named ‘Niall’ during Louis’ speech - and together they nod in rhythm.

“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre._ ”

When Louis sings, it’s like Harry’s world stops around him. Louis’ voice is caramel; caramel which melts in your mouth and leaves you craving more. His accent is only faint when he sings, but it’s like his voice is an accent in itself. It’s so soft and delicate, and Louis is clearly passionate about what he’s doing, as he holds his hand to his stomach and croons into the microphone. Harry isn’t even sure what song the two of them are performing, but he knows it’s brilliant.

Harry's mind gets back up to speed when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s the alarm he set to tell him to start making his way further down the Seine to Notre Dame, so he turns it off, packs his miscellaneous items back into his bag, hangs his camera around his neck and makes sure to drop a few euros into Niall’s guitar case.

 

~*~

 

It’s nearing the end of the week when Harry decides that he’s probably already got enough photos to make up the fairly decent section of his portfolio entitled, ‘ _Around Paris Because_ ’.  (Morrissey may or may not have been a significant part of the soundtrack to his trip.)

He did have a somewhat awkward  encounter with Mrs Sharp over his celebratory meal the previous evening, and she did in fact invite him to join her family so he wouldn’t have to eat on his own. Out of politeness, he accepted, and had to sit through a meal that felt more like the interview for the apprenticeship itself. (Well, he hopes it won’t be quite so intimidating.)

This morning, he woke up feeling refreshed and relieved that he has four more days left of the week to just do what he feels like doing without having to lug his heavy camera around with him and sit around waiting for perfect lighting.

After tugging on his jacket and boots, Harry leaves the hostel at around ten in the morning. He grabs a cup of coffee from a stand just outside and starts making his way towards the nearest shopping district - just to have a look, as his spending money is surely running out and he’s already bought souvenirs for everyone. It’s on the outskirts of the district that he sees Louis and Niall again, this time singing... _is that Kings Of Leon?_

_“...undercover on the street._

_I hope it’s gonna make you notice.”_

Harry may be a massive fan of Caleb Followill, but hearing Louis’ voice singing something that is normally in such a gravelly tone is a lovely contradiction that he never thought he’d want to hear. Wishing he had the time to listen for a moment longer but knowing that there’s too much for him to do otherwise, Harry continues walking past and drops a few more coins into the case.

 

Harry can’t help but wonder how he keeps seeing the same people in a city that’s as big as Paris. This thought comes to him when he’s yet again eating his lunch near the Seine and spots Louis walking past, talking rapid French into his phone. Deciding it must just be coincidence, Harry turns his attention back to his sandwich and takes another bite.

“ _Je ne sais pas quoi en penser._ ”

Harry freezes when he realises that Louis has actually sat beside him on the bench, sounding incredibly stressed in his tone of voice. Doing his best to keep acting nonchalant, he wraps up his sandwich and tucks it into his shoulder bag.

“ _D’accord. À bientôt._ ” Louis lets out a heavy sigh, and rests his elbows on his knees. “ _Merde_.”

Harry remembers thinking himself incredibly cool for knowing how to swear in French, so at least he knows what ‘merde’ means. Unsure as to what to do - as Louis is clearly not very happy, but is at the end of the day, a stranger - Harry stands and hitches his bag up on his shoulder.

“ _Au revoir, mignon_ ,” Louis says and Harry stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder to see the boy smiling up at him, despite his mood.

“Um,” Harry can’t get the words into his head, but luckily manages to squeak an, “ _au revoir_ ,” before scuttling away again.

 

As soon as he’s around the corner, out of Louis’ view, Harry pulls his phrasebook out of his bag and skips to the dictionary section. Running his finger down the words beginning with ‘M’, he can’t for the life of him find the English meaning of the word ‘ _mignon_ ’. (He also can’t help but think of ‘ _champignon_ ’, but he would really like to think that Louis didn’t just call him a mushroom.)

 

~*~

 

Harry returns to the hostel at around six o’clock in the evening, prepared to eat some greasy bar food and then head off to bed not long after. As he waits for his burger, he connects to the WiFi and sends a few messages to his family and friends to tell them that he’s getting on okay and is looking forward to seeing them on Sunday.

 

**Gemma: Sooo, have you met any cute french boys yet? ;)**

**Harry: I’m here to work, Gem, not flirt.**

**Gemma: “Work” yeah ok. What’s his name?**

 

That reminds Harry of earlier, so he avoids the question with Gemma and says his goodbyes before Googling various spellings of ‘ _mignon_ ’. He’s never heard of the word before, so it takes an extensive search until he finds an About page entitled ‘French Terms of Endearment - Termes d'affection’. Harry swallows and scrolls down the list, keeping an eye out for the word he’s looking for until... _cutie._

Louis called him cutie.

_Merde._

 

~*~

 

The next time Harry sees Louis, it’s Saturday - his last full day in Paris.

He’d spent Friday making his way around numerous museums and art galleries in an attempt to absorb some Parisian culture. It was actually much more interesting than he initially expected, but by the time he got back to the hostel, he was knackered and fell asleep by eight o’clock.

Harry is on his way to the Seine for the last time, hoping to have lunch on a different bench this time, when he sees Louis standing on the corner of one of the buildings, wrapped up in a purple jumper and checking his phone.

Harry thinks about the numerous Google searches he’d made the other night (‘ _Pick-up lines in French’, ‘How to flirt in French_ ’) but then realises that he can’t remember a thing. He stops in his tracks and shuffles out of the way of oncoming pedestrians, leaning against the wall outside a shop and bringing up the translator app he installed on his phone. Typing in what he hopes will be effective to at least make Louis laugh, he reads over the translation numerous times before slowly making his way over.

Louis looks up at Harry’s arrival. “ _Rebonjour. Ça va?_ ”

At least Harry understands that. “ _Uh, ça va bien, merci. Et toi?_ ”

“ _Eh, comme ci comme ça. En quoi puis-je vous aider?_ ” Louis’ smile is wonderfully polite and he doesn’t look nervous with Harry’s presence at all, so Harry takes a deep breath, clears his throat and goes for it.

“ _Où est-ce que vous avez acheté votre pull? Il est presque aussi jolie que vos yeux._ ”

Louis’ expression shifts three times after the words have left Harry’s mouth. First, his eyes widen. Then his mouth opens as if he’s about to speak, before closing again. Finally, he bursts out laughing.

“Your accent is very cute,” he then says in perfect English, _his_ accent hardly detectable. “What is your name?”

Harry, very much taken aback by Louis’ English, scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m Harry. Sorry for...that. God. I’ll just leave you to it.” He goes to turn on his heel, an escape plan forming in his head when a small hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket and a gentle voice says:

“Please don’t leave, ‘Arry.”

Harry turns back around and is met with Louis’ smile once again.

“I’m waiting for my friend right now,” Louis explains. “But afterwards we can go for coffee, if you would like?”

“Um, that would be really good, yeah.” Harry smiles back, brushing a hand back through his hair.

“I’ll meet you in the café you were in the other day then. The one where you kept looking at me.”

Harry flushes and looks down at his feet in embarrassment. He really needs to learn how to be subtle.

“Hey,” Louis puts his fingers beneath Harry’s chin and raises his eyes back to his, “I didn’t mind. It was quite flattering, really. I just wish I did wear this jumper then, so you would speak to me.”

Harry sort of wishes that too.

 

~*~

 

Louis arrives at the café a little bit later than Harry - although Harry was a little bit early in his excitement - and has Niall trailing behind him, glaring at Harry as if he’s already done something wrong.

“Um, Niall,” Louis starts gently, “this is ‘Arry. ‘Arry, this is my good friend, Niall.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, standing up to shake Niall’s hand. “You’re brilliant at guitar, by the way.”

Niall’s eyebrows go up a little as he shakes Harry’s hand, and he turns to Louis. “This is the tip guy?” he asks, in an extremely obvious Irish accent.

Louis blushes and nods. “Now does he get your approval?”

Niall turns back to Harry and grins widely. “Welcome to Paris, Harry. What part of England are ya from?”

As Harry and Niall start to get into a good conversation about different parts of Britain, then football teams, and pretty much everything Louis has no comment on, Louis clearly gets bored quite quickly.  

“Can _I_ talk to ‘Arry now?” he asks pointedly.

Niall looks between him and Harry before standing up. “Yeah, sorry. See ya later, Lou. Bye, Harry.”

“Sorry about him,” Louis mumbles when Niall is out of the café. “He loves it when he meets people from near his home.”

Harry smiles. “It’s alright. Can I buy you a drink?”

“A cup of tea, please,” Louis requests, smiling at the gesture as Harry leaves the table and makes his way over to the counter to order their drinks.

 

~*~

 

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Harry says when they’re half-way through their second lot of drinks. “Tip guy?”

Louis groans. “I really thought Niall wouldn’t say anything,” he grumbles. “It was a name I gave to you after you gave us money the second time. I thought it was really sweet, and you’re cute, so. Tip guy.”

Harry chuckles. “I don’t know how people don’t give you money. You’re very good.”

Louis’ ears turn a light shade of pink. “Thank you, ‘Arry.”

There’s a comfortable silence as each of them take a few more sips of their drinks, grinning at each other over the top of their mugs.

“Louis,” Harry says to break the quiet, reaching over the table for Louis hand gently, giving him the opportunity to pull away, “tonight is my last night in France, so - because I won’t have another chance - I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, _Monsieur ‘Arry_?” Louis asks, placing his free hand on top of Harry’s.

“I am, _Monsieur Louis_.”

“You are still very cute when you speak French.”

Harry makes a mental note then to learn more French.

 

~*~

 

“‘Ave you spoken to Niall, ‘Arry?” Louis asks as they are led to their seats in the Italian restaurant Harry has brought Louis to.

“Not since earlier. Why?”

Louis smiles and thanks the maître d' once he’s placed the menus on the table and left them to decide what they want to drink. “This is my favourite restaurant,” Louis explains to Harry, giggling when Harry pulls the chair out for him.

“Ah, well, what a wonderful coincidence.”

“It really is.”

The two of them order Italian stuffed chicken, and it comes wrapped in parma ham, with melted mozzarella oozing out the side as soon as they get their cutlery into it. They chat comfortably for the whole meal - including dessert, where they both have panna cotta - despite their three hour long conversation in the café earlier. Now Harry really does wish that he had approached Louis all those days ago, because he’s sure that a boy as wonderful as Louis would’ve been the perfect companion for those times on the trip when he had felt a bit lonely. In fact, Harry can imagine him sitting and watching Niall and Louis as they busk, and then spending the rest of the day with them - if they wanted him to, that is - and then going out in the evenings and actually having fun, rather than just going to bed.

He really missed an opportunity there.

“‘Ave you got your camera, ‘Arry?” Louis asks as soon as they’re outside in the cold air.

“Um, no; I haven’t.”

“Where are you staying?”

Harry really wants to ask Louis what all of these questions are for, but he also likes surprises, so he and Louis take the short ten-minute walk back to the hostel, where Harry sprints upstairs to get his camera and meets Louis back in the lobby.

“Where are we going?”

Louis taps the side of his nose. “Not telling you!” He then proceeds to grab Harry’s gloved hand and start dragging him down the street at a stupidly fast pace which has Harry laughing breathlessly.

“Jesus Christ, Lou; slow down!”

Louis stops in his tracks and turns to Harry, detaching their hands and first pulling the glove off himself, and then doing the same to Harry’s. “Much better,” he mumbles, leaning up on his toes to press a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth as he tangles their fingers together properly. While Harry blushes right to the tips of his ears, they start walking again, this time with Louis cuddled close into Harry’s side.

 

“It’s even prettier at night,” Louis says, looking up at the Eiffel tower with wide, sparkling eyes. “It is my favourite place to visit; it never gets boring.”

Harry thinks that he might not have even looked at the tower yet, because Louis is right beside him looking even more beautiful - if that’s actually possible - in the lights.

“‘Arry, there is a beautiful tower right in front of you. Why are you looking at me?”

“Because there’s something better to look at.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You are on a whole new level of charmer, _Monsieur_ ,” he says, still looking up at the tower. “Don’t you want to take a picture?”

“Of you, or the tower?”

Louis sighs exaggeratedly and stops a passer-by. _“Excusez-moi? Est-ce que vous pouvez nous prendre en photo, s'il vous plaît?”_

Harry is somewhat transfixed by the words coming out of Louis’ mouth - he may have just realised how hot it is when Louis speaks French - so when Louis wraps an arm around his waist, he jumps a little, but soon relaxes into the other boy, holding him close.

The girl Louis stopped does a good job with the photo, and when Harry looks at it afterwards, he decides that it’s probably his favourite from the whole trip.

 

“Thank you very much for tonight,” Louis says when the two of them have stopped outside Harry’s hostel. “I have had a lot of fun. More than I’ve had in a very long time.”

“I’m really glad,” Harry says. “It’s been really lovely getting to know you.”

They both know that this is it; that Harry will return to England the next day, and that Louis will still be here in Paris. They both know that they’re not going to see each other again, and despite their hearts being warm from such an enjoyable evening, they are also cold, because they’ve only had this one day together.

Maybe fate really was trying to tell them something when they kept seeing one another.

The two of them just look at each other for what feels like hours, until Louis reaches up to cup Harry’s face in his palms. “‘Arry?”

“Yeah?” Harry breathes, his face tingling under Louis’ touch.

“Will you kiss me?”

Harry feels his stomach fizzing a little as he nods slowly and leans forward as Louis moves onto his toes, the two of them meeting in the middle. When their lips touch, Harry can't stop himself from pulling Louis closer, tangling his fingers into Louis’ feather-soft hair and wrapping an arm tight around the smaller boy’s waist. Their size difference isn’t all that large, but Louis feels soft and delicate in Harry’s arms, and although they literally only met properly that morning, Harry already feels an insane need to protect this boy from anything.

Harry wants Louis to be his.

It’s Louis that gently nudges his tongue against Harry’s lips, coaxing them open and licking inside his mouth slowly, making Harry desperate for more, but knowing he won’t get it.

Harry isn’t even sure how much time has passed when Louis pulls back with a soft, wet sound, smiling ruefully. “Is this goodbye, then?”

Harry shakes his head fiercely. “It doesn’t have to be. We can email and stuff, if you like?”

Louis’ smile turns into a proper one then. “I’d like that very much.”

So the two boys part ways with each other’s email addresses in their pockets, the taste of the other on their lips and a promise in their hearts.

 

~*~

 

“Zayn,” Harry whines. “ _Zaaaaaaaaayn_.”

“What now?” Zayn asks tiredly, not looking away from his paper where he’s trying to work out an algebraic equation.

“Make today go faster, please.”

Zayn sighs and finally puts his pencil down. “Look, H, I know you’re excited - but whining about it isn’t going to make the day go any faster.”

“God, you sound like my mum.”

Zayn rolls his eyes before he carries on working, and Harry decides that the way to make time go quicker is to distract himself. (And if the two options he has to distract himself with is to work or think about what’s going to happen later, and he chooses the latter, well sue him.)

 

~*~

 

“Harry, are you ready to go?”

“Just a minute!”

Harry runs a hand through his hair one last time before deeming it as good as it will get before rushing out of the room and down the stairs.

“Steady on, tiger,” Gemma says when he reaches the bottom. “Someone might think you’re excited about something.”

Harry just shrugs and pulls on his shoes, literally jumping up and down on his heels as he waits by the door for his parents. They seem to take forever, and Harry’s sure that time has never gone as slow as it has for the whole day. (He’s also sure that he’s never been such a cliché until today, but whatever.)

“Okay, okay,” Anne says, laughing slightly as Harry helps her into her coat. “We’re going, we’re going.”

Harry skips down the stairs and leaps into the backseat of the car, closely followed by Gemma, who sits beside him normally and rolls her eyes.

“God, you’re like a lovesick puppy.”

 

When they arrive at their destination, Anne turns around in her seat and looks at Harry seriously. “Should Robin and I stay in the car, love? So he doesn’t get overwhelmed?”

Harry shakes his head. “I have four signs, and there are four of us. Teamwork, people!” He then proceeds to jump out of the car almost as fast as he got in and power walks across the carpark ahead of everyone else.

 

“He’s just got out of baggage claim,” Harry explains, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “He should be here any minute.”

The four of them then hold up their signs, artistically decorated by Harry when he was sat with Zayn in art one lunchtime. They read, “ _Welcome to England, Louis!_ ” in bright glittery script. Harry thinks they’re rather good.

“Harry, I see him!”

“Oh yes; over there!”

Harry can barely hear what his mother and sister are saying; he can barely see anything other than the ball of sunshine that is Louis stepping into his sight. He looks tired, with his hair slightly messy, jumper pulled over his hands and glasses slightly askew on his nose, but to Harry he looks perfect.

He always looks perfect.

Without even having to think, Harry is dropping his sign and running over to him, and at the sound of rushing feet, Louis looks up, sees him and starts running too. Harry feels like the two of them are in some sort of cheesy rom-com, but he doesn’t care as he and Louis crash in the middle, Harry’s arms around Louis’ waist as he spins them around in circle.

“ _Comme tu m'as manqué!_ ” Louis exclaims into Harry’s neck, his lips brushing against the other boy’s skin.

Harry pulls back and strokes his thumbs under Louis’ eyes to rid the skin of his happy tears. “I’ve missed you too, Lou.”

They then meet in the middle, their lips touching softly like they did all those months ago in Paris.

 

After numerous emails, Skype calls ~~(rounds of Skype sex)~~ , and _‘I miss you’_ s, the two of them are finally reunited.

 

Harry’s home will always be England, just as Louis’ will always be France.

But Louis will always be Harry’s home too.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:
> 
>  _Qu'est-ce que je vous sers?_ \- What can I get for you?  
>  _Je voudrais...croque-monsieur, s'il vous plaît?_ \- I would like a croque-monsieur (ham and cheese toastie) please.  
>  _Mesdames et Messieurs, bonjour._ \- Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen.  
>  _Je ne sais que penser de tout cela._ \- I don't know what to think of all that.  
>  _D’accord. À bientôt._ \- Okay. See you later.  
>  _Merde._ \- Shit.  
>  _Rebonjour. Ça va?_ \- Hello again. How are you?  
>  _En quoi puis-je vous aider?_ \- Can I help you?  
>  _Où avez-vous obtenu votre cavalier? Il est presque aussi jolie que vos yeux._ \- (Harry's attempt at) Where did you get your jumper? It's almost as pretty as your eyes.  
>  _Excusez-moi? Est-ce que vous prendriez notre photo, s'il vous plaît?_ \- Excuse me? Can you take our picture, please?  
>  _Comme tu m'as manqué!_ \- How I've missed you!
> 
>  
> 
> That should cover it. Yet again, I'm really sorry if any of it is wrong - please let me know if it is!
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://truthtattoos.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [[Fic Post]](http://truthtattoos.tumblr.com/post/95316105823/my-heart-is-in-the-city-of-love-by-dontlethimgo)


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